


GoldenEagle

by Wet_Paint_Sign



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - James Bond Fusion, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Attempt at Humor, F/F, Female My Unit | Byleth, Gay Panic, Minor Character Death, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:48:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23687962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wet_Paint_Sign/pseuds/Wet_Paint_Sign
Summary: Edelgard von Hresvelg is MI6's top agent - charming, tough, and fearless. She's faced it all, and she certainly won't be phased by having to team up with a mysterious SothisCorp mercenary named Byleth. Or will she?
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg & My Unit | Byleth, Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 6
Kudos: 76





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Edeleth James Bond AU!  
> 

The silence of the night is broken by the sound of fabric blowing in the wind. A black parachute glides across the starry sky, driving through the cold air a slim figure dressed completely in black and green camouflage gear.

Landing with a muffled thump, the figure ditches the parachute in nearby bushes and runs with soft footsteps across the pavement until they reach a barbed fence. Pulling out a small pen, they draw a white circle on the fence, step back, and listen as the metal slowly begins to sizzle and bubble from the heat of the thermite.

The figure slips through the hole in the fence with an agile roll, before dashing into the shadows.

A few moments later there is a burst of flapping as birds fly away from their sleeping spot a tree near the road, and the faint sound of gurgling. The black figure holds an elegant dagger and stands over a guard who’s gasping for breath and clutching the gash across her throat. As if her palms could stem the blood streaming out of her and staining the grass. 

The figure looks down at as the guard struggles and waits for the wheezing to stop, then continues to run across the grass until they reach a concrete building. Taking out a grappling hook, they throw up and catch the side of the roof and, catlike climbs up the side of the building until their body disappears over the roof. 

After nearly half an hour sliding on their hands and knees along the building’s ceiling air vents, the black figure stops at an opening and peers down. Bingo.

Coming down from the opening one foot at a time, the figure lands on the floor of the lab with a soft whoosh. Unfurling a rolled leather bag filled with tech gear, the figure plants three cameras in the room’s vents and places a USB in the central laptop. 

Turning around and beginning to examine the lab, the figure stops by a series of vats. Shining a light on the vats, the deep red hue of blood is revealed. Going lower, named labels appear beneath each vat. 

“Seiros, Flames, Cichol, Indech, Macuil… and Cethleann” whispers the figure. The last, Cethleann, was empty. Carefully unscrewing the top off the Sieros vat, they bring a sample of the blood to the nearest microscope. Peering down, they gasp, “What the hell…” 

The figure suddenly jerks in surprise at the sound of a keycard being swiped and the lock of the lab door unclicking. The black figure quickly disappears under the nearest desk. 

The footsteps meander around the lab, finally growing louder and louder as they get closer to the hiding spot. The black figure slowly unsheathes their dagger.

Suddenly the footsteps paused, and the voice rings out. “Now now now, did you think the CIA could get away with visiting us unannounced?”

The black figure trembles. 

The voice rings out again. “And sending a rookie no less. Come on out, Ignatz.”

Ignatz freezes upon hearing his name. Heart beating against his ribcage, he looks to the vent he came in through. Too far. He looks at the lab door. Blocked by the voice. Seeing no way out, he slowly raises himself and stares at the floor.

“Now, Ignatz, I know that you’re here, but, perhaps can you tell me why you’re here.”

Voice shaking, Ignatz replies, “I’m very sorry, but I can’—”

A single shot rings out and his body hits the cold lab tiles with a thud.

It’s silent except for the sound of chuckling, “you didn’t think you’d make it past the first battle, did you?”

——————————————————————————— 

——————————————————————————— 

It’s midnight when Rhea hears a knock at her bedroom door. “Come on in, Catherine,” she says, stretching up in her bed.

Catherine, even at this hour fully dressed in bulletproof body armor, steps through the ornate double oak doors and averts her gaze while Rhea slips on her night robe. “Boss, I have a report.”

Motioning for her to come closer, Rhea dips her head as Catherine whispers in her ear. Her look of curiosity furrows into concern then freezes into the marble facade of an inscrutable grimace. 

Taking a moment to compose herself, Rhea murmurs, “I see,” then lapses into deep thought.

Catherine steps back, awaiting orders. Finally she ventures, “Boss?”

Snapping out of her reverie, Rhea looks at Catherine and says, “Oh yes of course, what to do. I daresay we need to move quickly to gain control of the situation. To be frank, no matter how much I trust the bonds between us, I mustn't overstep myself.”

Softening her tone, Catherine responds “I will do anything you ask of me, Rhea.”

Rhea pauses for a moment. “Yes, of course, I had no reason to doubt you. Catherine, it’s time to bring in the Ashen Demon.”

Catherine’s eyebrows jerk up in surprise, but she catches herself. “As you wish, Boss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bond movies always start with some action sequence in which our hero manages an improbable escape from certain death or something right?  
> Close enough.
> 
> Don't worry, characters won't die very often in this fic. Except Ignatz. 
> 
> Next up: Edelgard the MI6 agent gets her mission.


	2. Chapter 1

It’s 5 am when her phone rings. Edelgard, already wide awake and working through a pile of papers on her desk, squints at the offending distraction. Pushing aside the scattered papers until she finds the buzzing device, she answers briskly. “Edelgard speaking, whom may I say is calling?” 

A curt and feminine voice cuts into the otherwise silent morning. “Agent Hresvelg. Your presence is required immediately, report to HQ.” Then the caller hangs up, her voice replaced by the drone of the dial tone. 

Well, L never was one for small talk. Despite her age or perhaps compensating for it, she was always immaculately professional. 

Edelgard sighs and gets up from her desk chair. She stretches and looks around her office. No time for a shower or morning run, she’ll have to skip the usual schedule. Walking over to the bedroom she opens the closet and pulls out her uniform: a fitted black suit and slacks, white button-up, black tie, and immaculately shined black leather brogues. 

Edelgard smooths her crisp collar in the mirror and fits her shoulder holster over the shirt before covering it with the suit jacket. She secures a small dagger to her left calf, then reaches for her pants. Pulling up her slacks, she notes a bulge in one of the pockets. Sliding her hand in she feels paper, pulling out a slip with a string of numbers and “Call me :)” written on it. 

Edelgard blushes as her memory kicks in. 

———

Last night at the bar. Working alone in her normal booth, nursing a martini. A beautiful woman approaches and asks to sit down. “Um, what? I mean, sure” Edelgard stutters out. The woman continues, “so, what kind of job keeps someone working this late?” Edelgard comes up with an alibi - “deadly spy” - isn’t exactly something she advertises. “I’m a… high school math teacher.” Usually, people lose interest after that.

But this woman was undeterred, “Oh really? That’s sweet. You must have a lot of patience for children.”

“What? No. I can’t stand them.” Edelgard replied, answering bluntly before realizing her mistake, then blushes. How is it she can trick a Yemini arms smuggler into thinking that she’s his new bodyguard but as soon as she sees a pretty face she can’t keep one lie straight. 

The woman looks a little taken back. Then, mistaking Edelgard’s expression as sarcasm starts laughing. “You’re funny, I like that. Here, call me some time if you feel like more adult activities.” Writing down her number she slips the paper over to Edelgard, then winks and walks away.

———

“Very smooth El, very smooth.” Still cringing, she crumples up the paper and is about to throw it in the bin… Then, slowly, she un-crumples it and shoves the paper deep into a desk drawer. “Maybe some time.”

Edelgard walks into her living room. As if you could say any part of this place implies living: it’s empty except for the necessities. Bare floors, no wall decorations. A table, a chair, a bed. Clothes in the closet. Handguns in a safe in the office. A wood desk piled with the only evidence that an individual named Edelgard might live here. 

That won’t do, so she places her desk documents in the safe. Catching her reflection in the mirror, “Who exists now?” Edelgard sardonically challenges the empty room. 

She slides her PKK into her shoulder holster, checks that her ID is in the suit pocket, quickly shines an offending scuff off her shoes, and leaves.

———————————————————————————————--------------------------------

———————————————————————————————--------------------------------

When Edelgard arrives at the top floor, she’s greeted by Dorothea Moneypenny’s flirtatious smirk. “Oh, is that Edelgard’s cute little scowl I see this morning?”

Despite the teasing, Edelgard knows Dorothea is happy to see her. Long before she took up her desk job in front of L’s office, she and Edelgard were in the same dorm at the training academy. Dorothea’s almost magical combat talents could have earned her a place right next to Edelgard, but she ended up preferring the role of charming secretary to the most powerful intelligence officer in the continent over the role blood-soaked soldier. 

And in all honestly, even Edelgard had to admit that the seat behind at that desk held more power than any gun in her arsenal, and entailed far less risk of dying in a ditch.

With even more honestly, she knows Dorothea’s position has allowed her to do far more to help Edelgard’s career than she had been able to offer Dorothea back.

So she’ll allow some harmless flirting. “Lovely as hearing your voice is, Dorothea, it can’t stop my head from aching when I think of what could merit a call from L herself. Speaking of which, any idea what this is all about?”

Dorothea rolls her eyes, “With you, it’s always things to be done and never people, Edie.”

Edelgard murmurs, “I’ll have you know I got a woman’s number last night.”

“Well I sure hope she’s not stuck waiting with bated breath for a text, unless she has the lung capacity of a humpback whale.” Dorothea snickers.

“I suppose you would already be sneaking out her bathroom window, and she’d be stuck waiting by the phone for STD test resu…” Edelgard begins, but catching how Dorothea’s raised one eyebrow in a warning, Edelgard composes herself, “I meant waiting to hear again from the beautiful, sultry, luscious woman whose caresses have ruined her chance to ever be satisfied by another. But unlike you, I have neither the time to spare nor opportunity for such feats—.” 

Dorothea cocks her head and huffs loudly.

Edelgard continues, “Ok. Can you just give a hint as to what is this about?”

Dorothea smiles. “Oh, is someone nervous?”

“With all due respect, I have fulfilled every objective this agency has asked of me and more.” Edelgard haughtily retorts.

Dorothea coyly lifts the corners of her lips. “Oh, did the agency ask you to do this?” She turns her computer screen towards Edelgard and reveals her an excel spreadsheet of infractions. “Let’s see, do I recall them asking you to… oh here, blow up the agency jet over Bolivia?”

Edelgard scoffs, “Ramming the agency jet into a rocket launch pad in time to stop a nuclea-”

Dorothea continues, “Oh and your last mission, we must not have recorded that order to raze the mansion of the Italian oligarch we were investigating…”

“That drug peddling Godfather wannabe started lobbing grenades at me! Should I have run with my tail between my legs back to base?”

“No - but maybe your idea jerry-rigging a freaking flamethrower and burning down an entire villa could have used some thought!” Dorothea said, raising her voice. “You ignited 6 petroleum tanks and nearly died yourself. For what, to teach a minor drug lord not to mess with the ‘Flame Emperor’?”

Edelgard’s hackles raise at the ‘Emperor’ nickname, but she shrinks upon seeing the sharp look of concern in Dorothea’s eyes, turning her eyes downward and swallowing .

“He was a little singed, but he came out alive, and now he’s paying for his crimes. My methods may be harsh, but I have always beaten the bad guys - isn’t that my job?!” Edelgard replies, still avoiding Dorothea's face by gazing at the flowers on her desk. “I complete the tasks put before me. That’s what matters. It’s what I live for.”

Dorothea’s gaze softens. “Edie, there’s a lot more to live for than this job. And do my feelings not matter? I care what happens to you. Q and H do too, even if you think they’re just overcontrolling assholes. There are a lot of people who care about you if you’d just cut out this ice princess act and let them in maybe you’d see it.” 

“First of all, you should all decide on whether I’m an ‘ice princess' or 'flame emperor,’ because using both doesn’t make sense. Second, thank you for sharing these concerns,” Edelgard answers, “and thank you for reminding me that I’m not alone.” She can hear the hollowness and frustration in her own words. 

Dorothea can too. She shifts in her chair and tenses her jaw, clearly wanting to say more but knowing that Edelgard has reached her limit on this subject. “Yes, how could anyone ever accuse you of being hot and cold. Fine. I just want to know, I’d miss you if you went and did anything stupid like go get yourself killed.”

Edelgard’s heart drops - she does love Dorothea as much as she can love a friend and have spent decades preserving this bond, ignoring the romantic overtures from both Dorothea and her imagination. Yet still, hearing that she was surrounded by friends who cared about her just reminded her that these intense feelings of loneliness and isolation came from inside her. Something broken, darkness only she could claw herself out of. 

Looking Dorothea directly in the eyes, Edelgard swallows her feelings and speaks with what she hopes is a gallant tone, “I’m the best agent since 006. You don’t need to worry about the greatest living secret agent in the world.”

Dorothea smiles and shakes her head, then looks at her computer screen. Waving at the door behind her, “Ok Edie, let’s keep it that way. L will see you now.”


	3. Chapter 2

Walking through the doors, Edelgard takes a position in front of the giant steel desk of a woman who looks like she's barely out of college. Edelgard stands at attention in front of Lysithea’s desk, “reporting for duty, L.”

Not letting Edelgard’s entrance break her concentration, Lysithea doesn’t even glance up from the tablet she’s reading. After a minute of silence, she turns the screen off and puts it down. She huffs, “It’s incessant, these situations I have to deal with.”

Edelgard keeps standing, waiting for the order to sit. 

Lysithea continues, “Our friends at the CIA have botched an easy operation, sending in an amateur in what should have been simple reconnaissance. Now we have to clean up this mess. American arrogance, I swear half of them are just lazy…”

Edelgard can’t help herself from taking the dig, “And how is your best girl Hilda doing?”

Lysithea begins tapping her foot in frustration. “ I certainly wasn’t talking about Hilda. Wait, wh-what? The disposition and status of the CIA chief is hardly my concern. And sit down already.” 

“I suppose that box of cookies half hid on your shelf over there is from another admirer? Come on Lysithea, you don’t need to hide her. I think it’s sweet, a pair of star crossed spy chiefs” Edelgard teases as she eased into the chair.

Lysithea blushes, “I can do without the condescension, thanks. And I don’t know what you’re talking about, nor is it an appropriate topic of conversation. Nor would I ask for your advice! Nor, nor,” she sputtered before taking a deep breath. Her working relationship with Edelgard was in many ways complementary: Lysithea’s fastidious tactical planning and precocious nature combined with Edelgard’s courage and brilliant combat prowess. At the same time, Edelgard seemed to be the only agent remaining, in the world, who would dare openly challenge her.

And if Edelgard’s string of near-miraculous successes weren’t always just enough ahead of her miraculous list of infractions, Lysithea is sure she would certainly have had Edelgard transferred to some remote base in the Arctic. Indeed, Edelgard was very lucky: Lysithea would often return from MI6 after a long day of covering Edelgard’s overzealous techniques nearly at her wit's end. If it weren’t for her concern for what havoc Edelgard might cause Mr. Snowbear’s (the stuffed polar bear on her bed) family, she would have sent Edelgard off to the frozen base long ago.

But Lysithea just rubbed her temples and began. “The failed reconnaissance mission puts us in a tight spot. Last year we received reports that a fugitive on Interpol’s red list had crossed UK borders. We don’t know how they got through or for what purpose, but they have warrants out as a person of interest for multiple assassinations, human smuggling, money laundering cases that span over a decade back. For the past three years we’ve heard rumors that they’ve started running with a new network that trades illicit biotech weapons. There is no doubt that they’re here, and that they’re here for a reason. However, despite this prodigious rap sheet and notoriety, their network is exceptionally close-mouthed. We had hoped the CIA mission would provide us some understanding of their intentions without having to directly engage them. But, now it seems it’s our only option, and we have not been able to acquire a lead on their whereabouts for months.”

“Until now.” Edelgard asserts. Interest piqued, her eyes flittered over to the computer tablet in front of Lysithea.

“Correct.” Lysithea agrees. She pushes the tablet over the Edelgard, “Read carefully, the information will auto-delete as soon as you exit the screen.” 

Edelgard scans her fingerprint to reveal a photo of a woman exiting an airplane terminal. While not the highest definition, there’s no mistaking the orange hair and red eyes. “Kronya is here, now that is something, isn’t it?” 

“It’s something, it’s your assignment. And I don’t need to impress upon you that this target is exceptionally dangerous, and exceptionally valuable *alive*” Lysithea says.

Edelgard swipes through the files: it’s not much to go on, mostly potential sightings, snippets of intel from semi-trustworthy sources. “Wait, how am I supposed to find her.”

“This is the start of the trail,” Lysithea says, “what I’m about to tell you too confidential to allow in any written report. One of our contacts at the Abyss Casino reported that Kronya is rumored to be there, tonight.”

Edelgard straightens her back, “Not a lot of lead time.”

Lysithea, “Indeed, report to Q at once.”

Getting up from the chair, Edelgard pauses before leaving, “L, didn’t you start in the bio-weapons division?”

Lysithea’s foot stops tapping, “That’s classified, and I would appreciate you not asking again.” 

Edelgard isn’t surprised. How a woman so young rose to the top of MI6 has fueled endless rumors. She was no doubt highly capable of the job (much more than the usual bureaucratic bores Edelgard has the displeasure of answering to), and she worked twice as hard to squash the looks she got for her youth and at times sickly appearance. As to the rumors, she would neither affirm nor deny them; perhaps she wagered the mystique deterred insubordination.

Edelgard walked to the door and was about to leave when she heard Lysithea once more, “I used to work for the division on illegal human experimentation. I would not wish on any agent the sights I have had to… Agent Hresvelg, I am counting on you. Understood?”

Taking a deep breath before turning around, Edelgard levels her lilac eyes into Lysithea’s pink ones, “Understood.”

As the door closes behind Edelgard, Lysithea’s hand reaches for the half-hidden box of cookies. Munching down on them one by one, she tries to swallow the emotions rising. Blood and scars etched over bodies. Walking through dark and dirty hallways, collecting the evidence of experiments gone wrong. 

She’ll just have to trust that Edelgard does understand the stakes.

———————————————————————————————--------------------------------

———————————————————————————————--------------------------------

Edelgard walks away from Lysithea’s office towards the elevator. As the doors close, she gives Dorothea a weak smile before letting retreating into her thoughts.

Biotechnological experimentation. A bunch of humans playing gods, becoming demons. Probably some cultish obsession with creating a master race, destroying or enslaving the rest. A more twisted form than her usual targets - drug lords, arms traffickers, corrupt politicians - but the same. They all fought for money, power, women, cars, etc. to lord over their fellow men. Superficial whims that etch deep scars into their victims.

Edelgard wasn’t exactly sure she fought for “justice,” she was working in a modern shadow of the British Empire after all. But, she fought for equality: the same procedure, the same rules, the same punishments applied, and handed out to all. This would be no different. Track, hand over to the courts, onto the next one.

There’s always a next one. No one ever learns. 

For every criminal she captures three more spring into place. When she falls, there will be an empty office for a few months. Then someone will replace her. The cycle continues uninterrupted. 

Maybe nothing matters.

A ding and the sound of steel doors pulling apart snaps Edelgard out of her brooding. Must be the basement, because there’s only fluorescent light illuminating the sterile hallway in front of her. 

At the end of the hallway stands a room with the most advanced technology in the world. Edelgard walks toward the doors with anticipation - she loves this room - jetpacks, flamethrowers, laser guns that shoot bullets capable of turning ninety-degree angels mid-flight. 

Skin tingling with excitement, Edelgard pushes open the doors and she readies herself to take in the sweet sight of - what appears to be - a small fire attached to the hem of a man’s lab coat. “Blast blast blast!” Q danced as he gingerly patted the flames.

Edelgard stands shocked for a moment before she feels the faint rush of a shadow beside her, as dark figure blasts Q with a fire extinguisher. “Hanneman, be still” the figure slowly drawls as if bored by the sight of his boss erupting in flames.

Finally extinguished, Hanneman exclaims “Jolly good timing Hubert!” Briefly eyeing his burnt coat, he tosses it off and throws it in a nearby bin overflowing with other badly discolored, ripped, and singed coats before opening a nearby closet with a least a dozen crisp clean ones.

After checking his reflection to make sure the coat isn’t rumbled, Hanneman finally turns around and walks toward Edelgard, as if nothing out of the ordinary just happened. “Hello Agent Hresvelg! Good timing, I was just testing your new phone’s flamethrower port. It works!”

Edelgard stares for a few seconds, then briefly flinches once again as she feels the shadow beside her. “Rest assured, we will not be sending you out with that phone until I personally and thoroughly test it for safety,” Hubert drawls. 

Edelgard isn’t sure whether to laugh or slowly back away from the whole scene. Hanneman is brilliant, but it’s also true he’s been here for quite a few decades and lately his ideas have been, well, a little out there. 

“Come now Hubert, it was a minor mishap, I pressed the wrong button! Let’s not go on acting like every little mishap is another ‘boombox rocket launcher.’ And!,” Hanneman rounds to Edelgard, “I still maintain I was *very* close to figuring out how to propel the rocket from the device *before* it exploded. If only stuffy bureaucrats weren’t so hell-bent on sacrificing creativity to the bottom line.” 

Edelgard nods. Though she did wonder why he thought would any spy be caught carrying a boombox in this day and age. Was it worse than everyone thought? Did Q still think it’s the 1980’s??

She decides to just roll with it, “Indeed. Anyway, I have to do a covert track in a crowded casino, what do you have for me.”

Hanneman walks around the workstations, shuffling through and among piles of wires, blueprints, and aborted gadgets. “Damned it to hell, where’d I put them all” Hanneman murmurs.

“Excuse me, I believe *you* placed all of Agent Hresvelg’s items on this table” Hubert chimes in, stepping aside to reveal a table with neatly laid out boxes laid underneath. “Ah, yes of course! I must have, no matter,” Hanneman mumbles as he walks over. 

Standing beside the table, Hanneman gestures to the stack of boxes, “Behold, my greatest inventions!” Hanneman exclaims. Hubert loudly coughs. “Our greatest inventions!” Hanneman exclaims. 

Hanneman steps behind the table, briefly disappearing under it before popping up with one of the boxes. “I don’t normally encourage such vices, but I think this is an exception,” sliding off the lid to reveal a sparkling blood-red e-cigarette. “Hubert tells me cigarettes are déclassé among the youth, so I’ve modified our exploding cigarette technology to become a vape pen that shoots tiny globs of chemical reactants. The “mint” green cartridge will send out a puff of sleeping gas. This red one is nitroglycerine and accelerant. Puff, then run, because you have around 20 seconds before an explosion the size of a small elephant occurs; should take out most reinforced doors.”

Edelgard takes the exploding vape into her hands and eyes it. It looks exactly like a Juul, but, “Hey, what’s this?” and points out a small attachment to the end.

Hanneman take it back and eyes it, looking confused. Hubert interjects, “GPS beacon, every 10 minutes, it uptakes your coordinates to our satellites.”

“Ok…” Edelgard says, “I suppose that could be useful.”

Hanneman disappears underneath the table once more and pulls out another box. “This to the normal eye would appear to be red lipstick. But,” and he pointed the lipstick at the nearest computer, which promptly began malfunctioning, “in fact it is a digital lock pick. It can disrupt, decode, or infect any networked or password protected device in between 1 second and 5 minutes, depending on the sophistication.”

Edelgard picked up the lipstick and turned it over. “And what would this be,” pointing to another small attachment.”

Hanneman looks confused again, “Er, Hubert is this your addition perhaps?” Hubert chimes in, “an infrared beacon - it casts a beam in all directions for up to 1 mile, allowing me, us, to triangulate your position, so long as you are in the range of 2 receivers.”

“Have I given people a reason to worry about me getting lost or something?” Edelgard.

“always” Hubert whispers, before catching himself and replying “I know once you have your sights set on a target you will follow it with little regard for your safety. Now we can find and help you lest something untoward occurs.” Hubert’s normally cool and nonchalant demeanor breaks ever so slightly, a tiny spark of concern wrinkling his brow, “I just want you to know we’ll always be there to protect you.”

Edelgard doesn’t know what to say for a moment, then replies, “thank you.”

Hubert cares more than he should. No matter how much he tries, one day they won’t come in time. She’s already accepted that she’ll likely die alone. She only hopes he isn’t too hard on himself for being unable to infinitely delay the inevitable. 

Hanneman disappears once more to reveal a box with a Rolex nestled inside. “And this, well, let’s see. It has a mini saw, lock pick kit, and a remote control that will bring your car to drive to the nearest street location to you, and my favorite, the ‘laser disrupter.’ Just point the laser at your target and adjust the setting as necessary. At setting 1, your targets will feel slight euphoric dizziness, enough to slip by undetected,” Hanneman says. Hubert interjects, “And at 10, their insides will melt.”

Edelgard takes the watch, and smirking at Hubert, “and let me guess, this button ties a big cowbell around my neck that ultrasonic detectors pick up.”

Hubert scoffs, “of course not. No, pressing this button will cause the battery to begin to bleed a slight amount of radiation - leaving behind a trial of signature isotopes we can use to track and find you.”

Edelgard recoils, “isn’t leaking radiation not good.”

“Says the woman who flew a jet into a nuclear launch pad?” Hubert teases. (“That was one time,” Edelgard says under her breathe). “Anyway, it is not dangerous unless you activate it for longer than 24 hours, I would advise using it only as a last resort.”

Hanneman scratches his head, “well, I think this is all. Oh wait!” He disappears under the table and pulls out a final, big box. “What is this again, oh yes! Of course.” Taking off the top he pulls out what appears to be a small electric kettle. “10 settings, the most advanced heat induction technology, three separate timers!” Hanneman exclaims excitedly.

Interest piqued, Edelgard asks, “But what does it do?” 

Hanneman looks confused for a moment, “Why it makes tea - what else?” 

Hubert rolls his eyes, “I believe that is the lab’s new kettle. Agent Hresvelg, that is all we have for you. You may pick up your PKK and keys to the Aston Martin from the normal lockers.”

Edelgard holds back laughter and gathers up the vape pen, the watch, and the lipstick before heading toward the lab doors. Before leaving, she turns, “Thank you Q and Hubert.” “Wait, how do I turn the GPR and infrared location devices off when I’m not on a mission?”

Hubert looks her straight in the eye while Hanneman fiddles with the kettle, “Thank you for suggesting that feature, I will take it under advisement for future iterations.”

Edelgard thinks of protesting further, but it’s not like she’s ever not working anyway. Turning back towards the door she hears one Hubert call out to her back, “Be careful, Agent Hresvelg.”

Pulling open the door she smirks and shoots back, “Thank you for suggesting that, I will take it under advisement,” before swinging the door shut behind her and exiting towards the elevator.

As the elevator begins to rise, a wave of annoyance washes over Edelgard. “Why does everyone keep telling me to ‘be careful’ and ‘understand’ and ‘not do anything stupid like go get myself killed’” she huffs. “It’s just another ordinary, run of the mill, extremely dangerous spy mission - what could go wrong?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: a mysterious mercenary makes everything go wrong.
> 
> Kudos and critiques always appreciated


	4. Chapter 3

Byleth licks the ice cube from her empty glass and counts how many seconds it takes to melt on her tongue. She told herself she’d give herself four drinks at this bar before leaving. It’s been three. 

She figured when she got the call from Shamir that SothisCorp had pinged a hit on Kronya’s whereabouts and that Rhea had specifically requested her services, it was just as likely a real lead as it was an excuse to prevent her from more blackouts and bar fights. 

Well, if that was their intention, then they should have sent her somewhere else. The Abyss Casino encouraged vice. It was, after all, housed in an old Catholic Church. 

Walking up to the entrance, Byleth had marveled at old-world grandeur - the beautiful carved stone building, the lights still illuminating the saints in the stained-glass windows. But as she walked closer, she saw the peeling paint and cracked banisters; how the side altars, devotional sculptures, and the altar stones were replaced by walls covered in graffiti. The staff walked about in mock beefeater uniforms, all of them elaborate and dirty, creased, and wrinkled. And it seemed they had a policy to only serve drinks out of cloudy martini glasses and chipped tumblers.

In short, the aesthetic of ruined virtue combined with a mockery of upper-class sensibility. Byleth smiles: her kind of scene. Usually for work she had to rub shoulders with suits and sleeveless silk gowns, pretend to like champagne or whatever sparkling wine crap was served. She much preferred being able to wear her leather jacket and combat boots with drinks that were served in glasses that would smash instead of tinkle against the wall. She was actually in an almost upbeat mood - even if this was a dead-end, it might be nice to stay here and have one, or two, or three more drinks before heading back. 

“She finally smiles - something good happen?” slim man with pale purple eyes and matching eyeshadow says as he leans an elbow down on the bar next to her.

Ignoring him, Byleth keeps looking to flag down the bartender. Finally catching the eye of the man who served her last two drinks, he heads over to her. “Would you like another—”

The slim man bends backward over the bar towards the bartender and interrupts, “Excuse us, please.” The bartender looks shocked for a moment, then scurries away.

Byleth feels anger bubbling up. Turning and giving the man up and down, she shoots out, “Not in the least interested.” She gets up and sits down at the other edge of the bar, trying to wave down the other bartender on shift.

“Oh, don’t put on a poker face. I think you’re very interested, Ashen,” the man says, sliding into the seat next to her new spot. 

It takes her a moment to register hearing that name. In that instant Byleth whips out the switchblade hidden in her jacket and holds the knifepoint a hair away from the man’s femoral artery. If he knows her by Ashen, he won’t doubt that she’s fully prepared to let him bleed out in the bar of a crowded casino. Just in case, Byleth begins to press the knife into his leg. She glares into his eyes. He gazes back with an amused expression.

“Please, that rejection already cut deeply enough,” he says, “Certainly the owner of this establishment can conduct impromptu customer satisfaction surveys. Especially from our more esteemed guests.”

Byleth grunts, “And I own the lost city of Atlantis. You have thirty seconds to explain why you’d be less of pain living than dead.”

There was the merest suggestion of trepidation in the way Yuri leaned back upon hearing the threat. Yet just as cavalier as his earlier interruptions, he replies, “Because I *am* Yuri Leclerc owner of the Abyss Casino, and I owe Shamir a favor, and because two of my bodyguards are right behind you. Weigh the odds.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, Byleth catches two figures spin around take a step toward them. “Bodyguards, come on man! We’re at least accomplices, right Hapi?” a brutish man with a long coat, no shirt, and messy hair pipes in. “Well Balthus, perhaps Yuri doesn’t want to be saved” a woman with red hair and a bored expression chimes back. 

Byleth quickly glances at both of them before looking back at Yuri, careful not to move the knife, “Prove it.”

A grin spreads over Yuri’s face, “OK.” Turning towards the bartender, he says, “Rami, it’s your lucky day! You’ve won a 25% raise for all your good work.” The bartender stops cleaning glasses, “Oh my goddess, thank you so much Boss!”

Yuri turns back and give a big wink at Byleth, “OK?”

Holding back a sigh, Byleth just rolls her eyes, “I’ll make sure to light a candle for you Saint Francis. Now how about a photo ID.” 

Cocking his head to the side in contemplation, Yuri responds, “Fine… but that would have revealed none of my secret virtue… But OK, OK. I’m going to reach into my jacket pocket.” Slipping his hand into his jacket, he pulls out a purple purse and hands it to Byleth. “Check.”

Byleth snatches it from the man with her free hand and finds the ID. She examines it carefully then examines Yuri’s face as she speaks, “This is a real government-issued ID, though I’d wager all the information on it is fake.” She slowly withdraws the knife and places it back in her pocket.

Feigning mock sorrow, Yuri replies “Unfortunately that’s the one thing I won’t allow bets on in here.” He nods to the accomplices/bodyguards, who disperse back among the patrons. “There are a few more things I’d prefer not to have in this establishment. Perhaps we can be of use to each other.”

Byleth shrugs, “I thought you owed Shamir a favor, now it seems like I’m doing you one.”

Yuri keeps his light tone, but his eyes go slightly sharper, “I am doing you a favor. Because if you want to find your ‘friend,’ you’ll need to get to them before they get scooped up or scared off by nosier, badge-wearing people do first. I for one, don’t much like Rhea or the State, but…” he leans back and sighs, “I happen to find those who you’re looking for much more distasteful. And when Shamir said the legendary Ashen Demon was coming back in the field, I knew which horse to bet on.”

Byleth’s insides twist upon hearing the full moniker, cursing herself as she sees Yuri’s gaze go from amused to curious and searching. Suddenly, she wishes she could have had that fourth drink. Well, she is with the owner of this place. “Ok Yuri, a drink on the house and we’ll talk.”

Yuri snaps his fingers, and Hapi appears beside him with a bottle of bourbon, two glasses, and a menu. Yuri pushes the menu towards Byleth and leans forward, “Sure you don’t see anything you like?”

As he pours out two drinks, Byleth flips the menu open and gazes down. Inside is a map of the church, with an x and a string of numbers marked by one of the doors to what looks to be the utility basement. “I like that this directs me elsewhere from here. But, where does it go?” She asks.

“Some of our clientele feels entitled to separate accommodations. Repulsive overcompensation probably related to some need to affirm their fragile sense of superiority. But, for the privilege they’ll pay enough to provide benefits and insurance for even part-time employees. No, I’m not above bootlicking the noble’s heels if it is to provide daycare and food for the children of our…” 

Byleth’s attention drifts. She very much doubts Yuri is setting her up, people don’t cross SothisCorp. Especially those who rely on connections to the rich and powerful. No, Yuri exists in the ecosystem of power in a roughly commensualistic relationship to people like Rhea - like a tiny bird who cleans crocodile teeth. As for Kronya and her network, well, there’s a difference between powerful people who don’t even notice the less fortunate and those who will sadistically play with them. Both hold their own flavor of cruelty, Byleth supposes. But, if Kronya saw a man beg for food she’d poison a loaf of bread and give it to him. Yuri would have a vested interest in pushing that network out. Though one does wonder what set of chess moves he’s making, she very much doubts she’s the only piece he thinks he can play. Byleth hears him, still talking, against the background of her thoughts, “… Thief with a heart of gold? No, not any more than King of the gutter rats…” Eh, he seems harmless enough. Maybe she doesn’t trust him but… 

Out of nowhere Hapi coughs the most bored cough Byleth has ever heard and snapping both of them out of their reverie.

Yuri concludes, “Anyway if I’m not mistaken, tonight your friend is in attendance for tonight's game. Perhaps a visit down there to say hi is in order?”

Byleth downs her drink and folds the menu. “What a wonderful suggestion.” 

Moving across the floor, Byleth pushes past the pack of gamblers gathered around the blackjack table and picks up pace as she nears the rows of slot machines. According to the map Yuri gave her, there should be a door. Gazing along the brightly graffitied wall… There it is. A single door, it, its handle, and its keypad painted black. Ah, the secret door that sticks out like a sore thumb. Hallmark of letting others know you’re somewhere they’re not important enough to know about. Entering the numbers she memorized, Byleth slips inside.

\-------------------------------------------------------------  
\-------------------------------------------------------------

An ornate chandelier sparkles above the large lacquer table where Yuri’s esteemed patrons play high roller poker. Byleth supposes the decorations are intended to provide an air of exclusivity and opulence: gold framed pastoral oil paintings and a mock Greco-roman fresco on the ceiling. Chairs with red velvet cushions and bar staff in coattails. Talk about pandering to those with a ‘gilty’ conscience, Byleth groans to herself. 

In her less than couture attire of ripped jeans, Byleth draws looks of suspicion tinged with mild revulsion. Fuck em - respectability is just a way to signal wealth - Byleth prefers to just take the shortcut. Throwing down a stack of bills, Byleth is suddenly given a seat and sparking liquid something in a flute. And to think, just an hour ago she had thought this might turn out to be just a fun fake assignment.

After playing a couple of hands with no signs of Kronya and only the boorish men exuding varying levels of self-importance to keep her company, Byleth doesn’t think she can handle it anymore. Maybe if she tells Shamir she got food poisoning and had to leave, she could still get half-pay?

Then she hears the sound of laughter somewhere in the distance, and the thud of a door being swung open and bashing the wall behind it. The laughter gets replaced by a booming voice that grows closer. 

A man with a receding hairline and ponytail bursts through the door, gesticulating wildly to a petit woman who is as pale as paper. She emits a high pitched laugh and anxiously fidgets one of her black dagger earrings, “Kostas, you are too much.” 

Byleth’s insides burn. Kronya exudes an air of desperate self-importance like a shaky small dog carried around in a faux designer handbag. Byleth had met plenty like her, small fish criminals who bounce from one heist to the next until they get caught and turn informant, or get offered up as the patsy. But where Kronya was typical in her rank desperation for validation, her delusions of grandeur combined with Dunning-Kruger overconfidence made her exceptional - at least exceptionally manipulatable for networks whose immorality scared your average gutter criminals away. 

Time slows for Byleth as her eyes meet Kronya’s — she sees exact moment the realization dawns on her: They are the only two women in a room full of powerful and connected men. This other woman is:  
1) A rival for attention and weaker than her, she must be brutally destroyed. Or;  
2) A rival for attention and stronger than her, they must immediately become best friends.

She watches the gears turn behind Kronya’s eyes as she tries to clue in and solve the equation of how Byleth is plus or minus prettier to the power of well-connected and divided by who’s dressed thottier.

It hits her: Byleth can’t chance that Kronya decides to ice her for the night. She needs to make a hail mary play to get off the knife’s edge of frenemy and foe.

Suppressing the urge to retch, Byleth looks Kronya right in the eye, playfully smirks, and says, “Hey beautiful, can I buy you a drink?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we meet Byleth! I just realized... Am I writing a BOND AU in which no character has the classic "Bond" personality? 
> 
> If anyone asks, let's just say the the real "Bond" of the story is the friends Byleth and Edelgard will meet along the way...
> 
> Next: a government agent and a mercenary tracking the same person, the same place, on the same night? What could possibly go wrong...


	5. Chapter 4

The first thing that ended up killing most spies, Byleth often mused, was not a lack of technical skill but the overabundance of it. They think it’s perfect wigs, drool-worthy gadgets, the ability to seem at home in almost any crowd. The problem: people are attracted to confidence and competence. Scan any room and your eyes will land on the well-dressed and preternaturally cool after scanning over the dumpy one being ignored by the bartender. 

The second thing that killed many great spies, Byleth noted with amusement, was that they wanted to be the greatest spy. Professional spies were fiercely competitive with their peers: always trying to show off how intelligent and ingenious they are. Hotshots hanging from the roof of a 50 story building by a rope made of a titanium-spider silk-blend look cool until they’re dragged off in body bags. Meanwhile, the woman who seems to be having an explosive diarrhea attack in the bathroom takes out the whole compound without even running out the roll of Charmin. 

It just doesn’t take much for an amazing spy to do something amazingly dumb. Take, for example, the woman Byleth would be running into shortly. 

Sitting at the Abyss Casino blackjack table in Balenciaga heels and a red Gucci dress that revealed a barely concealed sixpack, Edelgard threw down another hand in frustration. She did not really like gambling - but she hated losing. That it was MI6’s money being slid away from her didn’t matter - spies were supposed to be excellent card players. 

Finally the Rolex on her wrist buzzed three times: Dorothea’s way of signaling that Kronya was in the building. Edelgard pressed the timer button on her watch to activate her earpiece. Dorothea’s sing-song voice pops into her ear: “Hresvelg Tango Foxtrot Gucci Testing Testing Testing.” Edelgard rolls her eyes but gives her watch face a tap to let Dorothea know she’s coming through. “Confirmed Edie. Target is moving to the sub-level. The nearest entrance is a black door - five o’clock.’

Edelgard gets up from the table and signals for a cocktail waiter - using the opportunity to scan around the room. Catching sight of the door, she glides over the length of the casino floor trying to look purposive enough not to look lost but not so intently that she looks like she’s a secret agent on a mission.

Stopping 10 feet in front of the door she, pretends to inspect the slot machine. She speaks just loud enough for Dorothea to hear, “Coded entry. How the hell am I supposed to get in there?”

“Well, normally I wouldn’t suggest clashing shades of red - but it’s a small victory to get Edie to highlight her lovely lips” Dorothea teases. 

“Are you the one who’s been suggesting to Q to put my gadgets in makeup?” Edelgard hisses as she takes out the lockpick lipstick, “Because you know I could get Hubert to engineer some very unsightly office uniforms.” 

Dorothea tries to muffle a snicker, then puts on a fake cheery voice, “Oh sorry didn’t hear that last part! Must have been your soon to be radiating beauty interfering with the signal.” 

Edelgard huffs. Posing by a reflective column, she draws the lipstick to her lips and presses a small button. The keypad on the door makes the slightest sounds, and clicks once, then twice. On the third time the keypad goes green, and Edelgard slips inside the door. 

Having walked through the ornate hallway, Edelgard stops by the final set of doors. Balancing back on her heels, she waits; she can’t just walk into the room where Kronya and her lackeys might be. Edelgard investigates the hallway. She scowls as her gaze comes to rest on a ceiling vent. She doesn’t mind being… more petite… than most other spies/humans, but did every mission need to throw her vertically challenged build in her face?

No matter, that’s what these custom retro-fitted Balenciaga heels were for. Pressing a second button on her watch, her heels grow 2 feet. Removing the grate and hitching up her dress, Edelgard jumps into the cramped vent. At least here, her slight stature was an asset.

Crawling along the cold metal, Edelgard stops when she comes across an opening into a room. Peering down, she sees her: Kronya at the poker table, chatting with a man with a ponytail as she fidgeted with a strand of her orange hair. A moment later Kronya’s gaze lifts ahead of her, and she saunters across to the corner of the room. There, a woman hands her a drink.

Edelgard whispers into her watch, “Dorothea, we have an unknown contact.”

Dorothea responds, “Is it Kostas? Ugly man in a ponytail?”

“No, I know him. This is one…” Edelgard pauses as she struggles to describe the potentially hostile person with messy dark teal hair, a leather jacket, combat boots, and ripped jeans as anything other than ‘fucking badass.’ Edelgard settles on, “… is a woman.”

“Are those vents filling up with nitrous oxide or can I expect any more info to go on?” Dorothea snarks at her.

Fidgeting with her phone to make sure the flash is off, Edelgard lines up a shot of the mystery woman and sends it to Dorothea. “Picture’s worth a thousand canisters of nitrous.”

After waiting for a minute while Dorothea runs the image through the face-matching database, Edelgard hears a sudden intake of breath and “No fucking way. No no no…” 

“What, WHAT?!” Edelgard hisses. She then hears a very slow intake of breath, before Dorothea responds, “Edie, what do you know about a mercenary by the name of Byleth Eisner, code name Ashen Demon.” Edelgard’s blood stops. Who hasn’t heard about the Ashen Demon - the butcher who killed all 133 of the Crazy-88 Tokyo crime syndicate, the only spy to ever infiltrate the infamous fortress Groznyj Grad and get away alive, the legend who mysteriously went underground three years ago and hasn’t been seen or heard from since.

Edelgard looks down at Byleth, and whispers in a low breath, “Wow.” 

“What, What?!” Dorothea quickly asks, intrigued.

“She’s…” Edelgard bites the bottom of her lip, and her brain pauses as her eyes drift over the woman’s handsome features, coy yet reserved gaze, cascading shiny layered hair. Catching herself, she continues, “Um, she’s real! I thought she was made up to scare junior agents. You know, don’t be reckless lest you find yourself face to face with the ‘Ashen Demon.’”

“Oh totally, yeah, right? What the hell is she doing here, with *Kronya* of all people” Dorothea asks. “Invert your earpiece settings, you should be able to pick up some of their conversation.” Edelgard does and presses an ear to the vent.

———

On her end, Byleth was trying to make Kronya’s need for validation useful instead of annoying. For Byleth, this meant giving her just enough attention and praise that Kronya was flattered, but not enough that she didn’t feel the need to work for it. With any luck, after a few more drinks Kronya would be emboldened enough to start trying to impress her with some useful information she really shouldn’t be sharing. “You’re in a good mood,” Byleth says with a knowing smile.

Kronya swirls her earring, then launched into a rant about a movie she just saw before this. Some movie about a group of heroes who became criminals to oppose the world government to stop a genocidal alien from murdering half of all living creatures.

Byleth listened as Kronya recited the movie plot point by point, every once and awhile letting her gaze drift away, partly to stay sane from the boredom, partly so that Kronya felt compelled to get her attention back on her. 

———

A good 8 feet away, Edelgard could only hear snippets. Furrowing her brow, eventually, she brought her head back up, “Dorothea this is bad, they’re talking about murder… agents, super-criminal networks bringing down world governments. Genocide. We need to do something.”

“Hold on, the rules say do no engage with high-level operatives.” Dorothea responds. Her voice grows concerned, “Please Edie, they say no one has ever fought the Ashen Demon and lived.”

“Please, it’s not like she’s a maniac who goes around killing everyone who crosses her - I’m sure someone has disagreed with her about the best ice cream flavor and lived to tell the tale.” Edelgard tries to say in a reassuring voice. “That said, maybe for this we should get some intel scans and send them over to L for review. Can you patch Q in?”

She waited a minute before Hanneman’s voice joined in, “Greeting Agent Hresvelg, how may I be of service?”

“Q, I need a biometric scan of the room and audio monitoring. Can I do that?”

“Why most certainly! Place your phone near the vent.” Hanneman curtly responds. 

Carefully placing the phone on top of the vent, Edelgard whispers, “In position, now what?” 

Edelgard hears the sound of shuffling papers and drawers being opened and closed before Hanneman responds, “Phone flamethrower blueprints, phone flamethrower blueprints, let’s see here… Oh yes! Press the record app then hold down the power button.”

Edelgard’s fingers glide over the phone. Concentrating, in the background she hears Hubert’s voice join the call. “Apologies Agent Hresvelg, I was indisposed. Any assistance required?”

“No problem. Ok,” she talks aloud as she gets the scan ready, “I have the record app activated, pressing the power button.” She hears a mug drop and shatter in her earpiece. “Edelgard, NO!” Hubert yells.

But it was too late, as soon as Edelgard pressed the button a tornado of flames shot from the cell phone through the vent and into the room, lighting the cards and melting the poker chips. “Oh dear, perhaps it wasn’t just a wrong button that made it go off in the lab earlier… I’ll have to check on that” Hanneman murmurs.

The melted and contorted vent cover fell with a clang onto the floor. Everyone in the room, jaws gaping, looked up at Edelgard’s flustered and slightly barbecued face hovering in the vent. 

Then all hell broke loose. 

Men in suits rushed the door, flipping over tables and chairs to get away from the apparent sting/assassination attempt. Waiters duly pressed their backs against the wall and held their hands up, not wanting to be mistaken for whatever real target, and looking forward to the overtime hazard pay they’d collect for the cleanup. Kronya stood, mouth agape, before sprinting after Kostas through a side door. 

A thin smile spread across Byleth’s mouth and she cocked her head to the side. Her intense cornflower blue eyes bore into Edelgard’s lilac ones. Then, to Edelgard’s shock, the Ashen Demon doubles over laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what do they say about first impressions?


	6. Chapter 5

Edelgard scurried backward through the vent yelling “shit shit shit SHIT.” In her earpiece a cacophony of voices drowned each other out as Dorothea, Hubert, and Hanneman shouted furiously over each other. 

Her face stings like hell, as much from the sudden profusion of flames that went off less than a foot from her but also from deep, burning embarrassment. The line between respect and derision was difficult enough for a young female agent to maintain even in normal circumstances - and this screwup was precisely the kind of scenario someone known as the “Flame Emperor” would want to avoid. What would they call her now - Agent Flaming Edelclown, the Flame Disaster Strike Force… Edeldumb von Hellfire, Hellmisfire? 

So caught up imagining the teasing she would face, Edelgard almost didn’t notice that her earpiece was getting hotter and hotter. When it finally hit her that the growing pain in the side of her head wasn’t mental but physical distress, she quickly pulled it out - seconds later the slightly melted and misshapen piece sparks and explodes into a tiny flame. Edelgard dropped it before it singed her palm, and stared at the black spot on the vent where it landed. Her watch buzzed non-stop, no doubt Dorothea frantically trying to get into contact. 

“This can’t get any worse,” Edelgard mutters to herself. A moment later she realizes it can indeed ‘get worse,’ as the vent she’s hidden in breaks through the ceiling and she tumbles head over heels into the room below.

Looking up, Edelgard finds herself staring right into Kronya’s wide burnt sienna eyes. This is bad, Edelgard thinks. Now Kronya knows we’re after her. If I turn my back and run, I’ll have a knife in it before I even report the mission failure and request backup. I’m outnumbered, no element of surprise, with one of the most legendary mercenaries in history aiding my enemy.

Mind racing, Edelgard gets up, runs her hands through her hair to smooth out the bits the sudden heat frizzed out, presses her dress’s wrinkles down, and tries to stand as tall as possible. There’s only one way to salvage this, even though it would take a miracle to pull it off. Edelgard straightens her back and pulls back her shoulders, stating in the most matter of fact voice she can muster, “Kronya, you are hereby detained by order of Queen and Country.” 

Kronya cocks her hip and fidgets with her watch, then hear earring, as if she can’t hear Edelgard. She glances back at Edelgard and feigns mock surprise; as a sneer slides across her face and she finally responds, “Oh, did you say something? I wasn’t paying attention - too busy fantasizing about flames slowly burning your flesh off.“ Sticking her tongue out at Edelgard, she sprints off. 

Edelgard sighs. Well, it was worth a shot. If the easy way didn’t work, it’s onto the hard way. She takes off running after Kronya.

—————————

When Byleth finally stops laughing, she notices that Kronya and secret agent Charmander are gone. She considers her options: on the one hand, Kronya is being targeted by a still unknown agent, likely high level-law enforcement, CIA, MI6, MSS… If she wants to succeed in her goal and the night’s series of increasingly unpleasant interactions worth it, she needs to get to Kronya before they do. On the other hand, this would mean illegally obstructing an active mission by a state agency and attempting to best the government’s top agents. That might even be considered treasonous. Decisions, decisions… Meh, not really, what’s one more act of state subterfuge anyway?

Byleth rushes through the door where she saw Kronya escape. Just as she enters the room, Byleth sees Kronya scramble through a door opposite the room with secret agent Sailor Mars in hot pursuit. 

She pauses. It wouldn’t be good to chase after them both, better to surprise Kronya and slip her out before the other agent even notices the person she’s chasing is gone. Calling up the memory of the map Yuri showed her, Byleth makes a plan and walks through the door. 

—————————— 

Edelgard ran through the maze of halls in the basement of the casino, trying to catch glimpses of Kronya so she doesn’t lose her. Through rooms filled with storage boxes and a kitchen full of confused line cooks, through a crowd of clerks running bills into counting machines and the dressing room of some very complimentary burlesque dancers, Edelgard chased Kronya until her legs burned with lactic acid. Skidding to the end of another hallway, she turns the corner to see Kronya disappear behind a large door. 

Running after her, she bursts through and is blinded by the sudden glare of intense florescent lighting. Once her eyes adjust, she notes that she seems to be in a giant warehouse storeroom. High ceilings, echoey walls, almost endless rows of metal storage racks filled with boxes, unused slot machines, and rows of entertainer costumes. Standing still and straining her ears for any hint of movement, Edelgard waits to hear shoes slide across the concrete, or a cough muffled against a hand or the brush of fabric against the walls; anything to alert her of where Kronya might be. 

Not 10 feet away but in a row obscured by unused casino crap, Byleth also waits for Kronya to appear. From what she could tell, this was the most likely place for her to try to make her escape; at least, statistically speaking, most of the hallways ended up leading here. 

Suddenly, both women detect movement directly across from them as Kronya’s figure races from one of the shelves a door marked “Exit.” Both take off racing after her, so consumed by the thought of catching her that they don’t hear each other’s frantic steps. It’s not until they clear their shelves and angle towards the door that their bodies slam into each other, sending each sprawled across the floor.

Edelgard rubs her bruised forehead and gets up, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t…” Byleth tries to rub the stars out of her eyes and interrupts, “No, no, my bad, but I should be leavi….” The moment they realize who they’ve run into, their eyes widen in shock and both simultaneously go, “shit.” 

The next instant they’ve left up and drawn their gun at the other. Barrels practically touching, they glare as menacingly as possible. For a good 5 seconds they stare in silence at each other. 

Swallowing her heartbeat, Edelgard finally breaks the silence, “Um. You are hereby detained by order…” her slightly shaky voice is interrupted by an amused chuckle from Byleth, who asks “you do know who I am?” Edelgard pauses. Then tries to push through, “by order… of… Queen…” Edelgard stops before finishing.

Byleth watches her intently, trying to size up the petit woman. She notices how Edelgard is glaring at her, her eyes blazing with intensity, her pupils dilated. Scared? No, maybe overcome by the adrenaline rushing through her veins, but not scared. Focused. She would shoot that thing. It’s kinda cute though, Byleth thinks, like a cat puffing its tail to seem bigger before a fight. She’s also breathing heavily. But, Byleth notes, Edelgard’s breasts were rising and falling with her breath in an entirely too measured manner, a sign she’s using breath grounding techniques to try and calm herself down. Then, to her shock, she notices Edelgard’s eyes involuntarily move up and down Byleth’s body. Quick, but not quick enough. A light blush spreads across the agent’s cheeks. Oh. Byleth smirks. That’s how to play this game. 

Byleth strikes up a cheerful tone, “Agent?” 

Edelgard, her guard still up, shoots back, “What?” 

Byleth keeps her tone light, “Here’s the thing, I didn’t come here to fight to the death.” 

After a moment of silence, Edelgard murmurs, “Um, me neither.”

“So… I’m assuming we met each other by complete accident.” Byleth pauses and adds a more playful tone, “Now I’m just a mercenary, but we have a saying: if it’s not your mission, it’s not your problem.” Edelgard’s body becomes a little less tense, and she shuffles her feet. “You put your gun down, I’ll put mine down.” 

“Like I’d trust the honor of someone cozying up to Kronya in a casino backroom!” Edelgard shoots back with a raised voice as if suddenly remembering how she got here.

Byleth lets Edelgard’s flareup cool, the continues, “Oh please, I was already nearly bored to death listening to Kronya prattle on - I didn’t much appreciate that burst of flames going through the air vent to finish the job. If anything I should be wary of you, lest you set Drogon back on me! Is that now standard issue for top agents?”

Edelgard flashes a smile. Byleth smiles back and begins to slowly lower her weapon. Edelgard hesitates, then lowers her as well. They stare at each other again with the energy of mutual intrigue between them. 

Byleth reaches out her hand, “I’m Byleth, the Ashen Demon.” Edelgard takes it, “Edelgard von Hresvelg, MI6 agent 007.” 

Finally the facade has cracked, and Byleth watches Edelgard relax. Usually she can read people pretty well, but something about Edelgard gives her pause. She’s clearly trying to live up to an image she has of herself, but there are mixed undercurrents of strength and doubt warring within her that Byleth can’t tease out. She’s not trying to be the perfect agent, or she would have never lowered her gun. What then is she striving for, Byleth wonders?

Stepping closer to Edelgard, Byleth strokes her fingers down Edelgard’s arm, “you’ve got a bit of burn here, let me look at it.” Edelgard looks away in embarrassment, “no, it’s fine, really.”

Byleth moves closer, “No, let me look. Wouldn’t want it to leave an ugly scar.” Without warning Edelgard tensed up and her hand with the gun twitched.

Taken aback by the response, Byleth searched Edelgard’s face expecting to see anger, but just saw a flash of deep sadness before Edelgard’s mask came back up. Driven by a desire to win back Edelgard’s good graces, though she couldn’t tell if it were out of cold strategy or a tug of concern, “Then again, I bet you’d look badass with a few battle notches. Want to see some of mine?”

Edelgard’s expression softened, “I think we should go our separate ways. It’s violating too many regulations to be talking with you as is.”

Byleth pushed back, “Funny, you don’t strike me as one to just follow the rules for rule’s sake.”

Giving her a slight smile, Edelgard looks back up at Byleth and opens her mouth as if to say something. Suddenly Hubert’s voice booms “Agent Hresvelg. Your servant is coming for you!” followed by Dorothea’s voice, “Edie, please don’t be dead!!” 

Edelgard’s head snaps toward them and she shouts “Over here!!”

Turning back towards Byleth, Edelgard finds the woman gone. She whips her head around, looking into every corner, but the woman seems to have disappeared into thin air. “That’s impossible,” she whispers. 

“What’s…. Impossible…. Edie???” Dorothea asks, gasping for breath along with Hubert as they finally get to her. Hanneman ambles behind them, stopping to stare at the many casino gadgets and costumes, muttering under his breath, “hardly anything’s impossible, more like improbable.” 

“Byleth, uh, the Ashen Demon, she must have escaped.” Edelgard reaches to push her hair out of her face. And notices her watch is gone. Her face goes red with humiliation. “UGH. Quick, we can still find her, Dorothea, you go left, Hubert, go right, Hanneman… stay right there…” Edelgard barked out orders.

Dorothea, Hubert, and Hanneman stare at Edelgard. Then they stare at each other. Then they stare back at Edelgard. 

“NO,” they yell in unison. 

———————————————————

As Byleth slides into her car and switches on the heat, she takes a brief moment to stare at the casino entrance in her rearview mirror. She looks back down and turns the stolen watch over in her hand, inspecting the face and buttons for clues as to how to unlock the secrets it might hold. She doesn’t get far when her car’s console starts ringing. Byleth lets the call ring for a bit, taking her time to carefully place the watch in her glove compartment. Finally, she stretches out her finger and hits the answer button.

Shamir’s stony face popped up on the screen in the center console. Byleth searched her face for any signs that Shamir was aware of how the mission had gone. There was none - Shamir had mastered a resting face that mixed inscrutable with a shade of judgmental. For agents less practiced than Byleth, all it took was a long blink from Shamir and every mission mistake down to losing a button would come nervously spilling out in torrents to avoid getting on her bad side. Shamir’s methods had one major weakness in dealing with Byleth: she knew Shamir liked her.

Nonetheless Shamir seemed intent on trying the silent interrogation, so Byleth began the conversation, nonchalantly asking, “Hello Shamir, how are you?”

Shamir rolled her eyes but responded with an emotionless and matter of fact voice, “We use codenames Ashen. Report?”

Byleth smiled, “It’s been an interesting night.”

Curling her fingers together and resting her chin on them, Shamir leaned toward the camera, “Hm… Let me guess. ‘Interesting’ translates to failed.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Byleth responded, eyeing the glove box she just closed.

Shamir sighed, “Let me re-phrase. Did you get her?”

“Well, I got *a* her, so to speak. Have you ever heard of a woman named Edelgard?”

Momentarily caught off guard, Shamir’s measured visage broke and she scrunched up her face in thought. “Hm… Edelgard… Oh, the madame of that Milanese brothel?

Byleth cocked her head to the side with curiosity. 

“No? Oh, wait.” Shamir pulls out her phone and began swiping through the contacts, “the arms smuggler with a bionic leg?”

Byleth cocked her head to the other side, “She has all her legs.”

“Edelgard, Edelgard….” Realization dawns on Shamir’s face like an unwilling sunrise. She slowly raises her face, staring at Byleth as if she waiting for her to burst out laughing. But that wouldn’t make sense, Byleth wasn’t one for jokes (thank Gods) and even if she was, she knew Shamir didn’t have a sense of humor. Nonetheless, Shamir found herself hoping. And that was even worse, Shamir tried to make she never hoped. Shamir slowly continued, speaking as if she trying to inject venom into each syllable, “she wouldn’t happen to be… say, around 5’2, with white hair, lilac eyes…” 

Byleth smiled the slightest of smiles, and Shamir continued with increasing exasperation, “has a proclivity for handcuffs… carries around a *badge*?” 

Byleth kept smiling wider. The silence spoke volumes to Shamir. Her voice becomes tinged with exasperation, “Byleth, is this your idiot idea of a joke? I told you to be cautious. You told me you won’t make me a liar when I told Catherine you’re up for it. Do you have any thoughts in your empty head?”

“Maybe it’s good that I don’t. Edelgard seems to like me just the way I am,” Byleth said airily, with a hint of smugness and a glint in her eye.

It takes a lot for Shamir's tone to cross from passive-aggressive to aggressive-aggressive, but damn it if Byleth couldn't get under her skin, “What am I supposed to tell Catherine? What is she supposed to tell Rhea?!”

Byleth stared at Shamir. Shamir waited for some sign of elaboration, any sign of sympathy for what mess of shit Byleth was pushing them all in. But despite all her years working with Byleth, Shamir could never tell what hid behind Byleth’s intentionally borderline vacant eyes. Instead, she could only watch as Byleth pushed her car into gear and hit the gas pedal. 

Giving Shamir a wink, she said, “Hm, just tell them we’re moving onto Phase Two of the mission,” and cut off the call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has stayed along with me on this story!!  
> It's taken almost 10k works for Edelgard and Byleth to finally meet, but things should be edelething a lot faster now.


End file.
